


Finding Home

by DatSonyat



Series: Those Who Remain [3]
Category: Overlord - Maruyama Kugane & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Guild Splinter, Angst and Feels, Assumptions, Banter, Emotional Support, Established Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Ulbert/Demiurge, Platonic Soulmates, Reminiscing, Semi-Canonical Character, Ulbert makes some extreme assumptions, thus platonic for now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26945671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DatSonyat/pseuds/DatSonyat
Summary: Was it truly so horrible to be like Momonga, a half-loser instead of a born loser?Ulbert's departure from Ainz Ooal Gown was never destined to be a happy one.[Originally written and published in late 2018.]
Relationships: Ulbert Alain Odle & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Those Who Remain [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963231
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Finding Home

**Author's Note:**

> If there's similarities to And All Falls to Ash, well, it's purely because that's a tamer AU of this madhouse BS. 😂 Sorry about the slowness of reuploads. My health continues to do me no favours, RIP.

Ulbert’s hands hovered above the console, his hesitation over it needless, respectful though it may have been. He stood, still as a statue, appearing more an NPC than the one he observed, a maelstrom of hideous, unwanted emotions churning in his gut.

How did it come to this? Why had they allowed it to get to this point?

_What you’re doing is worthless. Do you seriously believe they care for you?_

Hades stared back at him through droopy, half-lidded eyes, expression passive, emotionless and unmoving as he always would until given an explicit order. Incomplete though he was—what work it’d take to perfect him—his serene face, beautiful in its otherworldliness, summoned forth a small amount of peace.

_“Good evening, Demiurge,” Ulbert announced his lordly presence to the Seventh Floor Guardian, offering a mischievous smirking emoji. “Bow,” he commanded, almost subconsciously, their routine long set. Demiurge complied, and YGGDRASIL’s AI system prompted an automatic response, a similar emoji popping up beside the Arch-Devil’s head._

_Admittedly self-indulgent—perhaps childish and embarrassing if he was willing to be brutally honest with himself—when it came to his NPC, Ulbert imagined Demiurge’s charming, devious smile widening a fraction at his greeting._

_What would his voice sound like if he could speak? But anything more would break the immersion, and the act mattered regardless. He could be who he wanted here, could attempt to forget the wretched, unfair reality he existed in so long as he was Ulbert Alain Odle, Demon of Great Disaster, Ainz Ooal Gown’s most powerful magic caster._

_“All the world’s a stage,” he said to no one in particular, seating himself on a warped, obsidian throne, intricate and Lovecraftian in its gnarled, regal design. “I’ve another tale of great victory to regale you with tonight.”_

_He shared other things with his Floor Guardian, nothing that would destroy his wondrous act, of course. It was fair to say Demiurge functioned as one of his closest confidants, if not the closest, Amon aside._

_Demiurge couldn’t judge him, after all, and kept his secrets as well as the dead._

Whatever comfort Hades provided vanished, a pervasive emptiness replacing it. Spirals of red and black bored into his own yellow and for a dreadful moment, Ulbert saw a sad, understanding mirage of his own making in the eyes he’d designed.

Pain and a sorrowful anger bloomed in his chest. How dare he do this to Hades, he and his closest friend’s ultimate creation? To metaphorically trample on their friendship like this when he was the one who’d done Amon a great disservice.

After what he’d done—

The gates to Ereshkigal’s Heart—the Core—opened, their parting slow and grating, the sound of ancient slabs of polished yet worn stone grinding in his ears. The eldritch runes etched into the circular, innermost chamber pulsed a soft violet, the arcane symbols flaring with magic and security protocols bathing the dark chamber in ethereal light.

Gentle footsteps, quiet swishes of fabric, and the faintest creaking of armour heralded the Reaper of the Red Dawn’s arrival. With each chamber she passed through, the heady vibrations produced by the security protocols deactivated one by one, traps either bypassed or disarming as the guildmaster’s presence silenced them.

An aura of flames, both a passive and a cosmetic, further brightened the dark room as Amon entered, eclipsing the scant light the fractal crystals lining the domed ceiling glowed with.

Ulbert didn’t bother turning to properly greet her, unwilling to lose his composure, though no recrimination or judgement would ever come.

Whenever it involved him or Momonga, and by proxy his former guild, Amon was kind to a fault. Weak, even. Bitter, hateful, spiteful, vindictive—where were those? _Naïve,_ he wanted to snap, _if only you were more like me—_

He terminated the vitriol crashing through his mind. Amon was the last person deserving of it. Was it truly so horrible to be like Momonga, a half-loser instead of a born loser? Was his desire to surpass it wrong? Had he erred in accepting Amon’s help IRL, in turn helping her, too?

Was _that_ his so-called sin?

 _“...You actually named your avatar_ **_that_** _?_ _"_

_“So I should’ve gone with something as theatrical as Ulbert Alain Odle?”_

_“How is that_ **_even_ ** _a question?”_

_Momonga stepped between them, waving his skeletal hands in a covertly desperate ‘please stop’ attempt. “It’s not like it’s bad, right? I like it…” he said, all diplomacy, though his actions gave away some frankly amusing nervousness. Ever thoughtful, he wanted them all to get along._

_Nishikienrai gave an easy laugh and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at Takemikazuchi. “It’s like saying the ‘Warrior’ part of Warrior Takemikazuchi is bad.”_

_“I’m here to do the dungeon, you troublemaker.” Takemikazuchi tapped his sheathed sword against the icy ground, impatient._

_“Sorry, sorry,” Nishikienrai sing-songed, tossing a grinning emoji, not apologetic in the slightest._

_“I’m calling you Amon,” Ulbert stated, using an eyeroll emoji. “It’s an appropriate name for a demon, at least.”_

_Amon snorted and ran a scarlet claw along a larger, curving crystalline horn. “Fair enough, Mister Demonology Expert.”_

_“Then on behalf of Tabula: Your scythe is completely out of place with that name. Momonga, stop sighing, you know I’m right.”_

_Momonga technically couldn’t disagree. “As long as you’re okay with it.” He looked to Amon for reassurance, extending a bony arm and gesturing them to follow after him._

_“It’s part of my name,” Amon confirmed with a shrug, shouldering her large scythe, "use whichever part of it you like.” A cheeky, winky face emoted in Ulbert’s direction._

_“Hmph, I’m never calling you Ki—“_

_“Ulbert!”_

_It was nice to see someone attempting to repair things, and it_ **_would_ ** _be Momonga of all people, thankfully._

Had everything he’d gone through with Ainz Ooal Gown been an utter waste? Were those foolish beliefs of his false? Were all of his supposed “bonds of friendship” lies?

His now rigid hands trembled in rage and grief in front of the unused holographic keyboard they’d fallen to.

“You have my blessing to do it,” the somber voice behind him offered upon realizing there were no words forthcoming. “Hades is meant to be our masterpiece.” Amon strode across the room and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. She leaned into him, then, a firm whisper: “Do it. It’s yours as much as mine. You’ve earned it.”

A private [Message] activated on instinct.

“ _Why?_ ” Ulbert snarled, irrationally incensed, before he could stop himself, blazing with an indescribable wrath. He whirled around to glare at Amon in disbelief, shoulders heaving and fists clenched. His avatar didn’t require the uneven, furious breaths rasping through their [Message].

Like Hades, Amon’s face couldn’t change, but the tiniest of flinches didn’t go unnoticed, and the brief flood of guilt proved enough to dampen the flames of his fury.

Amon wasn’t a filthy, backstabbing traitor—she was his friend, his only friend. The _only_ one _worthy_ of being called his friend.

_I wasted years of my life on you._

He managed a terse apology and considered logging off, immediately deciding against it. Amon would waste no time following after him to knock on his door in their shared apartment. Despite the fact that they’d lived together for several years now, Ulbert barely grasped the concept that another living being—someone in RL, not a game where he became an illustrious demonic god—cared for him to such an extent.

_Ulbert, you’re as worthless as—_

“Am I worthless?” The question left him in a hoarse rush, nothing controlled or dignified about it.

Amon took a startled step back. “Ju—Ulbert? _What?_ What happened?” she asked, the shock of the weighted question nearly forcing his loathed RL name from her mouth. “Worthless?” Amon echoed, beyond stunned.

He’d been called worthless his whole life—by society itself, by what passed as caretakers in the orphanage, by every sneering teacher who looked down at him, by every colleague and the few scarce idiots who thought to befriend him, change him, _fix_ him. He didn’t _need_ to be _fixed_. He understood his place in the world, accepted the impossibility of rising above it.

Condemned to worthlessness while still in the womb, yet it somehow mattered now, because Momonga—and much to his growing hatred, Touch Me—unknowingly opened a door that led him down a different path.

How Amon viewed him _mattered_ , and he’d repaid her honest feelings and kindness by _betraying_ her, just like—did he even _want_ to know Amon’s answer?

Before he could answer himself, Amon’s voice, deadly in its carefully maintained monotony, interrupted, “One of them called you worthless? If it was that bastard…” Amon let the unspoken promise of murder hang in the oppressive air, with Hades their singular mute witness to a seemingly silent conversation. He could practically hear the gears in her head turning, reaching conclusions. “Who am I denying entrance to Irkalla? How many?”

If Ulbert’s rages were volcanic eruptions that threatened immediate extinction from the surface, Amon’s were deep, unending cracks splintering beneath the ocean that swallowed all who ventured near the forever open, slowly but surely widening void.

Hearing that tone, Ulbert was certain she would never forgive or forget, just as he never would for what Touch had done to drive her away.

(What would’ve happened if the posturing moron succeeded?

Did he hate what Touch Me represented more than he despised the man himself?)

Amon had his back like she promised she would, so why didn’t it make him feel better…? _Fuck_ , he was absolutely exhausted with it all.

“Does it matter?” he answered—avoided—her question with another, drained and somehow not burning with an overwhelming desire for vengeance. “I made a mistake,” Ulbert confessed, unable to convey the horrific depth of his perceived wrong-doings and sincerity of his words without further humiliating himself. “I should have left when you did.” He shook his head, disgusted. “Staying was _wrong_ . Why did you accept it? And Momonga? I told him long ago it was impossible to remain truly neutral, that refusing to choose a side _was_ contra his intended outcome.” Sour anger boiled to the surface again and he growled an inhuman curse, unable to keep the sheer contempt at bay as he ranted.

Amon’s avatar gave away nothing, their [Message] remaining ominously silent. Molten gold eyes encircled by flame held his, watching, waiting.

“My turn. It matters.” Her fists clenched as well, voice the iciest he’d heard in the eight years he’d known Amon. She stated with fierce conviction, “It matters because you _aren’t_ worthless. Whoever accused the person I love with all that I am is the worthless one, and I _won’t_ see them rewarded for it. I’ll never pry for details unless you want to share, but are you saying they were all part of… _whatever_ madness this was, the 50/50 team included?”

Ah, Amon raised a fair point, one that spoke to another facet of his tiredness, one that thawed at his unrelenting anger and grief.

Grief. It would be grief. YGGDRASIL wasn’t just a game. It was another life, the best life he’d ever lived, and it felt like it’d been stolen away and shattered to pieces before his very eyes. _Ye dark gods,_ he wanted to chide those thoughts, though they were truth, _how hopelessly dramatic._

“No,” Ulbert replied, shoulders sagging as some of the tension went with them, “Take hasn’t been around as much since Touch quit YGGDRASIL and Nishiki…”

 _I wouldn’t be surprised if Nishiki quit after this_ went unsaid, the intent understood.

Amon’s head lowered with a sad emote, breaking eye contact. “Then, the 50/50 team—”

“It’s not your fault,” he cut Amon off, heedless of the potential cruelty in it, drawing up his full height to loom over the shorter demon. “If those of Ainz Ooal Gown disagreed with it so vehemently, it was their responsibility—their right—to say something sooner.”

Simply put, the 50/50 team was a sub-clause in Ainz Ooal Gown’s and Ragnarök’s End’s occasionally tenuous alliance. Comprised of Ulbert, Takemikazuchi, Nishikienrai, Amon, and two other highly skilled players from Amon’s guild, they were nigh unstoppable. Neither guild held a hard rule for teaming up with others, but it was an unfortunate matter of time before the issue of sharing the spoils of their dungeon crawls and PKing reared its ugly head. Both guilds eventually found themselves in uproars over who deserved what and many accusations of the six members being selfish struck a raw nerve.

They weren’t mere friends having a good time when they had their respective guilds to serve and look out for. Much blame had fallen on Amon as a guildmaster, something she didn’t disagree with and had, in the end, looked to Momonga for guidance and a final ruling.

Momonga’s decision hadn’t left all of his guildmates pleased with turns distributing gear, gold, and items based on which guild and its members needed it the most. Who acquired the items in question also influenced which guild received what. Not to mention dented egos and hurt pride amongst all who wanted to receive those rewards based on their own merits.

Until they’d lucked out, unbelievably so, into a World Item. That the two guilds negotiated any sort of alliance after that was a miracle, though in retrospect, Ulbert suspected it was just one more reason, more fuel, more poison, for what had been allowed to happen.

None of the 50/50 team regretted their time together and Ulbert refused to feel any remorse over that World Item’s fate, now maliciously glad it wasn’t resting in Ainz Ooal Gown’s Treasury.

“Do you want it? I know you’re thinking about it.”

It was Ulbert’s turn to feel shock, prompting an uncharacteristically harried response, “What in the Nine Circles— _no_ , it’s yours—“

An exasperated, playful emoji floated from Amon’s form as her shoulders dropped in a sigh before shrugging. “I already channel at least half my MP into you most of the time. It complements your build better than mine. Moreover,” the obscene evil in her voice was unmistakable, “you’d transcend ‘Great Disaster’ if you could cast [Grand Catastrophe] more than once, or any of your other terrifyingly genius combos, yeah?” If Amon could raise a brow and grin, she certainly would be right now.

“You’re deflecting,” was Ulbert's flat, frigid answer. He would listen to all of Amon’s hard truths, she didn’t need to _pity_ him like—

“It’s not pity,” Amon said, as if he were nothing more than an open book.

“Don’t finish my thoughts for me.” Ulbert returned to Hades’ open settings for a distraction, glancing at the eerie, serpentine artifact resting on an onyx, jewel-lined pedestal adjacent to the NPC. It was one of the most important things he was meant to protect in the supremely unlikely event a raid breached the Core.

 _Do it,_ Amon had said without a shred of hesitation. _Use it._

Their private [Message] ended with little fanfare.

Amon sidled up to him, keeping a polite distance so she could read over the alterations being made to Hades. “There are few things you hate more than pity, Ulbert. I don’t pity you, and I don’t hold any type of grudge against you for staying in Nine’s Own Goal or Ainz Ooal Gown.” She emoted a simple smiley, reaching out to caress Hades’ cheek, thumb smoothing over an angular cheekbone in a slow, comforting motion. “These eight years haven’t been a waste, not to me. I’ve lost count of all the adventures—“

“And blatant stupidity. ‘Oi, how much fall damage do you think I’ll take if I jump?’”

Amon laughed, dispelling some of the misery choking the chamber, her sincere joy enough to wring the smallest of chuckles from him. “Yeah, Ringo's a special breed. But he lived, plus he’s a World Champion for a reason.”

“More like World Enemy, except it’s to himself,” Ulbert muttered, fixated on the lines he was adding to Hades’ backstory. He wanted… “You could have been a World Champion, you know.”  
  
(Never with her current build, not one meant to augment his.)

“Ha, that certainly would’ve sent quite a message to Touch,” Amon shot back with a grinning emoji, hand placed on a cocked hip. "Placing such faith in me, Lord World Disaster? I'm honoured, but I achieved something..." her voice softened, rasp becoming apparent, "something _better_." Heart emojis dusted with golden sparkles sprung up around her horns. 

Ulbert smiled IRL for the first time all day. “It’s not too late for any of it yet. Rumours are exactly that; YGGDRASIL is far from being on its last legs, my dear Dominion of Death.”

For now. If only YGGDRASIL could last forever.

“Sounds like you have a plan,” Amon said in earnest, sounding like she was smiling, too. “But you’re deflecting now. You didn’t hurt me by staying. It wasn’t a mistake, in my eyes, and not to the friends you still have, either. Nishiki and Take aren’t so fickle as to abandon us. Pero, Chagama, Yamaiko… You still have people in your corner. Momonga…” Amon trailed off, confused, disbelieving, unsure of what role he’d played leading up to the end. “I’ll talk to Momonga some time. We—me and you—can figure out where to go from here. I fully own you now, darling, and I don’t plan on letting my priceless best friend go.”

Ulbert’s swift typing halted, clawed fingers twitching.

_You aren’t worthless. The person I love with all that I am._

“Indeed, there exists no finer magic caster than I, Ulbert Alain Odle,” he proclaimed, devilishly charismatic and most importantly in-character, choking down the emotion stuck in his throat. “Correct you are, dearheart, a royal plan I certainly have.” None of his maniacal laughter was forced.

He didn’t acknowledge Amon’s vague head tilt at his deliberate ending of their serious talk. Others ignorantly pushed him, believing they were _helping_ … detestably fixing. True to her word as she'd always been, Amon never pushed.

What folly Momonga had committed by not supporting Amon, by letting Touch Me get away with it and having their mutual friend take the blame. One day, Momonga would surely look back and regret his choice, his “they should’ve discussed their issues calmly with each other.”

Excuses. Was there enough forgiveness in his heart for it after everything…?

“Do tell, usurper. Shall I be passing the torch of guildmaster to you, Devil of Catastrophe?” Amon prodded when the silence stretched longer than he’d intended.

Ulbert held up a finger, wagging it back and forth mockingly. “Not yet,” he said slyly, laughing in dark pleasure at the storm of appalled emojis shooting out of Amon’s head. “All competent rulers require contingency plans.” He waved at one of the artifacts guarded by Hades.

Amon attempted to stifle a wholly surprised gasp. He pictured her eyes widening IRL. “You’re redoing your build? What about World Disaster? You can’t be—“

A smirking emoji. “Who decreed I must be rid of it? Besides, if I’ve no choice, there are more than enough of us still spread across the realms so that I might restore myself to a glory infinitely greater. I’ll be taking the Jörmungandr Circlet you so graciously offered when my neo-godliness is complete.”

“I did say that, didn’t I.” Amon ran a hand down her face, resigned and laughing sheepishly. “I may be joining you in a quest for a better build. Your ‘adopted disciple' would be more than willing to be our escort. I don’t think they sleep,” Amon murmured the last part in concern. “It’s going to be an epic grind, I hope you know.”

“And how worth such a journey will be. I would be remiss not taking the opportunity to learn [Perseus Veil]. Hm, we may do well in conscripting the Idiot World Champion and Heal-Sl—Kan— _Chiyuriel_ . Stupid angel blew through his free Shooting Star wishes after all that money he spent.” _More than Momonga._

“My!” Amon’s eyebrows definitely shot up in her room. “My second-in-command is an ambitious, vicious man.”

“I was given the proper motivation,” Ulbert hissed, serious beyond a shadow of a doubt, eyeing the World Item near Hades.

They thought to take something unspeakably precious from him, his beloved treasures? They were in for an apocalyptic surprise if they believed he’d let them get away with it.

Amon went quiet and motioned for access to Hades’ console, the only sound the deep thrumming of the Core modulating Irkalla’s sigils and wards for a time as she worked.

Ulbert’s eyes followed the sentences that sprang to life in Hades’ backstory in confusion. Not tactical settings? He’d intended to add something… very different there, with Amon’s approval.

_“Hades possesses a natural curiosity for Demiurge, one of his masters’ original, beloved subordinates, however, this affinity for him will not interfere with his ability to protect Irkalla and his supreme creator, to whom he is the most loyal.”_

“You wanted to add something about Demiurge, didn’t you?” Amon asked, solemn, as Ulbert read the heartfelt addition over and over. “It’s not a replacement…”

He couldn’t muster the appropriate shame at the few tears that slid out from under his dive helmet.

“I don’t believe in replacements,” Ulbert spoke, for once uncaring to conceal the emotional response. “I won’t forget.”

“I know. I would’ve liked to have seen them all one last time. Maybe Momonga will—“

“No, not this time, Amon.” Ulbert reached for his friend’s hand. “That’s the difference between the two of you: you’re far too soft. Case in point, why does Hades’ ultimate loyalty lie with me when you’re guildmaster?”

Heart emojis rained from Amon. “I like giving you gifts! It’s really that simple.” She squeezed his hand, however dull the sensation was.

Any manner of, “Of course you should venerate my awe-inspiring greatness!” failed to come to him. Why did something like this have to happen for him to realize he hadn’t been alone all this time? What an unrepentant fool he’d been, worse so if he did not remedy it.

“Thank you,” and it really was that simple, to log off and clasp hands at their small dining table later that night.

* * *

“Lord Ulbert?”

Ulbert snapped out of his daze, lost in a memory years prior. His luxurious feather quill pen screeched against the mahogany of his desk in his private office down in R&D. It’d long since torn through the paper of one of his numerous notebooks, jagged ink marks tainting the previously pristine pages.

His visible eye gradually drew to Vergil, taking in the usually unflappable NPC’s anxious expression.

Vergil nervously adjusted his velvet ascot, smoothing down his immaculate vest when his Supreme Creator deigned to look upon him. “My lord, if there is anything I must correct—“

“Do not trouble yourself,” he ordered, directing his gaze to the stylistic tapestry above his desk, ignoring Vergil’s awkward sputtering. “You’ve done nothing wrong. I am merely…”

The tapestry depicted six beings of different races, shapes, and sizes against a storm of Armageddon-like proportions, all rendered as a pantheon of gods brandishing their finest weapons.

Crimson armour, robes, and a flaming scythe demanded his attention.

“I’m looking forward to the day we reunite with Amon,” he said, absentmindedly toying with the matching earrings he’d added to his avatar once he'd officially joined Ragnarök’s End in memory of Demiurge.

If only he’d insisted on waiting for the end together instead of letting Amon wander the worlds a final time, wishing to see the beauty of stars the world they existed in now was full of. He prayed she'd not gone to Helheim.

Amon could not stand against Nazarick’s might alone, if Momonga was as far gone as he feared.

_Amon, where are you, my priceless friend?_

**Author's Note:**

> This was Amon's original first appearance back in the day. My first intentions with all fics was actually platonic everyone, which then swapped to me wanting to write romance and smut. 😅 I repost these more sensitive ones because I do love my Ulbert. I'm the first to admit he has serious issues and can be a major asshole who escalates at the drop of a hat. If you think at all that Ulbert is blameless or a saint in this or that I intended to make him such, you're very, very wrong. Same goes for Amon, really. 
> 
> To address points I made in the past: What happened with AOG and Ulbert and the person(s) who said those things to him aren't the obvious conclusions (Momonga would never, same goes for Touch and he's stated to have quit YGGDRASIL, so Amon is angry at someone entirely "new"). He's an unreliable narrator at best and it's his POV, what he personally believes. It doesn't make his thoughts absolute truth. Ulbert's fear at the end of this chapter... I'm sure y'all can guess what it is based on the tags. And no, Amon can't and will never be a World Champion in either of my 'verses. I leave that to the tiny angry dragon tank god Ringo. 😂
> 
>  **Serious question:** I'm not fond of this style of writing, but I wanna know what y'all prefer. Is this preferable to the purple prose I usually use/what my writing became over time?


End file.
